Desert's Caress
by Sniper Hawkeye
Summary: I was quite young when I joined the military. Hot headed and patriotic. Never did I think that I would be thrust into a war. Royai don't like it, don't click it. TO BE REMOVED
1. On My Way

**Disclaimer: If I owned Fullmetal Alchemist, do you think I'd bother writing a disclaimer?**

**A/N: Hi! This is my first time actually posting something for the world to see. Please take pity on newbies like me and review! Thanks a bunch!**

**Desert's Caress**

By ME!

**1-On My Way**

Ishbal. That was what it was called. The home of a lone group of people, a group that managed to flourish even in the desolate wasteland of a desert. They grew, prospered and managed to create a monotheistic religion all their own; a cult, almost. It stated that everyone and everything was hand-crafted by the creator himself; an omnipotent, omniscient and benevolent deity for which their great civilization was named, a deity by the name of Ishbala. Since Ishbala made everything and everyone on Earth, to change one of His materials into another was a sin against God. When Amestran alchemists demonstrated their abilities to the Ishbalan people, the alchemists were branded as Demons sent to do the work of the Devil. That's where the war really started. When we pig-headed Amestrans tried to force our opinions on others, namely those concerning alchemy.

I was still quite young when the war started. I was 20, a woman full of a burning loyalty to our Führer and patriotism to match. In my mind, serving to defend one's country carried the utmost honour. Fool that I was, I joined the military as a sniper. Looking back, -though I regret some of the things that I did- I wouldn't be where I am now if I hadn't joined at that time in particular. They were glad to have me, those army recruiters with their carnivorous, beady eyes and their satisfied smirk that would widen each time a possible enlistee walked through the door. They said that "Each new recruit is a ray of hope for our great nation's imminent victory". That had sent me into another of my patriotic moods and I smiled as they handed me my papers. Four weeks later, I was shipped off to basic army training.

I spent a glorious nine weeks in the Boot Camp From Hell dining from a gourmet menu of military-class food (ex. anything that wouldn't give you food poisoning straight out was good enough to eat), learning now not to get oneself killed (ex. know what's coming from where and don't be there when it gets there) and finding out how to properly shoot the rifle I was issued (ex. point and shoot). After those refreshing nine weeks of having my ears screamed off every day during drills, I moved into infantry training. Another glorious four weeks of dining luxuriously, having my eardrums worked out by my CO, and doing simple work (ex. "Grunt! Fetch me a milkshake!") which I would agree to do without the slightest hesitation (ex. "Sir, yes, Sir!" all the while wishing he'd drop dead). I was beginning to feel like the war would be over by the time I earned my keep.

I remember the ride there vividly. Sitting on the train, watching as the cities gave way to rolling countryside. Beautiful, green countryside that stretched out for miles as far as one could see. There were two little boys that ran alongside the train, waving and grinning at the passengers. One with longish blond hair and sparkling, gold eyes, the other, obviously younger, with sandy brown hair and eyes a steely -yet kind- silver colour. I remember smiling softly and waving back at them, their smiles growing in delight as they achieved a positive response. Slowly, though, that rolling countryside gave way to a seemingly endless desert wasteland. We were getting close. Even if one couldn't see the desert just outside the window, one would be able to tell. The air seemed to have a tension to it, as if anticipating something, like the hum of the air before it rains. However, this anticipation had nothing to do with rain. The hum in the air was a warning to all that dared pass into that country. It screamed blatantly in our ears and it rang out through the dark corridors of our minds, echoing through our consciousnesses. This land is cursed.

We set up camp in the desert, our rows of tents a strange white against the yellow sands. There were around thirty or forty of us from the training camp I was at. The rest (a good 100-odd people) all pooled here from different places, mixing, intermingling, slowly all becoming one group. Not a very tight-knit one, but a group that would watch each other's backs. We sat around the fire eating our dinners as each one of us discussed our opinions on the upcoming battle. Some were excited, some were afraid and some didn't know what to feel, so didn't feel anything. Most of the people I sat with were people who, like me, had joined out of their own free will. Then, there were the people who were given the choice of prison or fighting in the military. Many people, given the choice, would rather join the military and have the individuality beaten out of them during boot camp than finding themselves in a prison cell, slowly losing all sanity for who knows how long. All very interesting people in their own rights, but, by far the most interesting of all the people that I met were the alchemists. My group's tents happened to be closest to the alchemist's, thus I got a chance to speak with one. There was a kind-looking older man by the name of Dr. Tim Maroch, the Crystal Alchemist. We chatted, I asked questions, the answers to which he didn't hesitate to give me and he gave me with a smile. I learned a lot from him that night. State alchemists were given a special name and a silver pocket watch that amplified alchemical reactions. There were three alchemists on board that train, not including him. A tall, slimy looking man with long, black hair tied back in a ponytail and evil dark eyes. Zolof Kimbley, the Crimson Alchemist, an alchemist that specialized in making things blow up. An excruciatingly tall, large man with one curl of blond hair and a large moustache. Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong Arm Alchemist, specializing in using a combination of alchemy and brute force. Lastly, a dark haired, dark eyed man who wasn't too blessed as far as height goes. Smaller than most men, but not short. He was Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. He would use the special fabric on a glove to create a spark, and by changing the oxygen content of the air, BOOM! Instant bomb.

A country girl like me never really knew much about State Alchemists. This not only pertained to the silver watches and their names and such, but to the stories that were attached to them. We were all dogs of the military, but even the other soldiers were disgusted by the alchemists. People said that State Alchemists were human weapons that mass murdered people every time the Führer called them into action. People, like me, who had spoken to the alchemists feebly tried to stand for them, but ultimately failed. My opinion was that, yes, perhaps some alchemists weren't great people, but weren't there people like that everywhere? I decided not to worry about it and I sell asleep staring out the flap of my tent.

The morning came too soon. Golden light of the sunrise shone through the tent flap and onto my face, shining red through my eyelids. Thanks to the sun's invasion of privacy, I woke up to see the most delicious sight I could ever dream to behold. Two wolf spiders mating centimetres away from my nose. I succeeded in rousing everyone else in the camp with a shriek. Several of the soldiers that slept in tents alongside mine rushed to the entrance to see what the problem was. A crimson blush painted my face as a few of the men started laughing. One of them picked up one of the spiders by the leg and threw them outside for me. I looked at the ground sheepishly and muttered a thank you. Then I glared up at the men who were laughing at me. Among them I noticed the Flame Alchemist smirking ever so slightly before turning tail and leaving with the rest of them. I inspected my tent for any more pleasant surprises before closing the flap and changing into a fresh uniform.

That was where most of the mirth ended. We packed our things quickly and uniformly and we headed out on foot into the desert. I slung my M1-D Garand sniper rifle over my shoulder and watched as all of our company took the form of a line, infantry units in the front, then snipers, then alchemists. There were around five of us snipers walking along there, rifles over one shoulder, bags over the other. For the most part, the oppressive feeling in the air banished us into silence, only ever saying something to try to lighten the mood. That tactic most often failed. Thus, our company listened to the sound of the wind over the dunes. Gradually, people started to speak to each other, if only to try to banish depressing thoughts from their minds. Some of the snipers started to talk to each other about their families, and I ended up striking a chord with Major Mustang. He teased me slightly about my little escapade that morning with the wolf spiders, but, as I was a subordinate, I could only show my displeasure with a "Sir, Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"If you had woken up to find two wolf spiders mating in front of your nose, what would you have done?"

He laughed slightly, "I would have thanked God that it wasn't on top of me and burned them into oblivion."

I wasn't impressed. A red blush of embarrassment once again flushed my face. Seeing this, his smirk only widened. I found out that it was his first time actually being deployed. He was arrogant, but he put up a good shield. He was obviously frightened, as I was starting to be. I was seriously starting to doubt whether or not my patriotism would save me.

It took us two days of crossing the desert on foot before we reached the war zone. Whether this was a good thing or not was arguable. The farther from the station, the less chance there was of an Ishbalan escaping on the train, but the closer the station, the less the walk. When we first saw the city, or rather, what was left of it, such a stench permeated the air that a few of the men had to retch. I removed the telescope from my rifle and scouted out the reason. It was disgusting. The city's streets were stained a horrid blackish-red and there were the same stains spattered on the buildings. Bodies, both enemy and ally were strewn everywhere, rotting, left to lay there and host a myriad of sicknesses and diseases. The picture combined with the smell made me bend down and retch. Mustang flinched slightly at my retching, but motioned for the scope. I coughed and spat, wiping my mouth with my sleeve as I shook my head.

"No, sir. Don't," I said, my voice cracking slightly from the bile that burned the back of my throat. I kicked some sand over my expelled lunch.

"I could order you to give it to me," he warned, voice dangerous. I raised an eyebrow, looking up at him.

"Than order me to, sir. You won't get this rifle scope any other way. It's too much for anyone with a choice to have to see. You have a choice, sir, I suggest you take it."

The Major frowned at me for a minute before lowering his hand and staring at me with those dark eyes of his, "Give me the scope, Second Lieutenant. That's an order," he growled. I slowly stretched out the hand with the scope and pressed it into his palm. He nodded and peered through it at the city. As he was surveying the ruins, I looked at the others in the company. Dr. Maroch had borrowed another sniper's scope and was looking pale and sickly. Armstrong didn't dare to look at it, but Kimbley looked positively ecstatic. Several snipers, following my example, had removed the scopes from their rifles to have a look. Many of those who peered through those dreaded magnification devices were pale, stony or retching on the ground in front of themselves. The man in charge of us started us on our way again and we circled around the abandoned city, giving it as wide a berth as possible. Mustang handed me back my scope looking paler than normal and almost seeming as if he was holding back some bile.

We had entered the War Zone.


	2. Sniper

**A/N: I apologize if Riza seems OOC-ish. After all, I'm me writing and not Hiromu Arakawa. However, in coming chapters, I plan to have her sort of... close herself off in a way. Almost in self-preservation. So, her outward emotions (can't think of a better term) will change and she'll get less open to everything. Thanks to those of you who reviewed!**

**2-Sniper**

The sun beat down on the unending sands of the Eastern desert. The wind whipped over the dunes, slowly moving them over the years like waves over the ocean. In the midst of that sea were twenty odd tents. The company of troops were divided into five or more to a tent. I was the exception. As the only woman this time around I had a tent to myself, as per regulation. Slowly, I was becoming more and more afraid of the upcoming battles. The tension in the air was becoming almost too much to bear. At night, when everyone was asleep, I could hear gunfire in the distance. I sat outside and leaned against one of the posts of my tent, hugging my legs and resting my chin on my kneecaps. I stared into the direction of the fight. Flashes of light like distant lightning exploded on the horizon, the echoes of gunfire like far-off thunder. I heard someone's heavy footsteps approach me and settle down to my left. My eyes flitted over to the figure beside me. I jumped to my feet and saluted.

"Major Mustang, sir!" I exclaimed, voice in a surprised whisper. He sighed and motioned for her to sit down. I resumed my position of staring out into the distance.

"Calm down…Couldn't sleep, eh Hawkeye?" he asked, staring at the distant battle as well. I nodded.

"No, sir, I couldn't," there was a drawn out silence before I finally spoke again, "Tomorrow we'll be out there."

"Mm," he sighed, resting his head on his palm. Another silence, but it wasn't an awkward silence. We were just content to sit and stare at the flashes of fire on the horizon.

"I want to go home already," I smirked while shaking my head.

"I know the feeling."

In the morning we were all divided into our units. There was one sniper, one alchemist and 16 foot soldiers per unit. I was put in the group with the Crimson Alchemist, Kimbley. All five units split up and headed towards the city under siege. My unit made our way around to the West side of the city, heading in closer. As we made our way through the city, ash and burning flesh filled my nose. Bile threatened to rise in my throat, but I held it back this time. As we approached the active fire zone, the unit leader, -a man with beady black eyes and sandy brown hair by the name of Lieutenant Colonel David Potter- ordered me to get in a building and shoot any Ishbalan I saw. I saluted and made my way up the building, checking around every corner with my silver pistol. As I reached the roof of the building, I slung my M1-D Garand off my shoulder and loaded it before leaning out a window and giving the Lieutenant the affirmative. He nodded curtly before giving the order to move out.

I scanned the floor for a hiding spot. I spotted a place where the wall had been blasted out near the floor. I lay out the rifle there and lay down on the floor on my stomach, peering down at the bloody street below. I jumped slightly as an explosion nearby marked Kimbley's entrance into the fight. Another ball of fire farther off marked Mustang's entrance. I just settled back into position as I searched for any Ishbalans. A dark-skinned woman carrying a blanket ran through the street and tried to hide behind a wall. Stupid idea, because I already had her in the cross-hairs. I only hesitated for a second before pulling the trigger, the recoil absorbed by my shoulder. I saw her fall over, a bloody hole through her forehead. Then, the blanket started to cry. I realized with horror that I had just killed the guardian of a helpless baby. Self-hate swamped me as my transgression was realized.

"Oh, God, no," I told myself, shaking my head as the baby's cries carried up to my ears, "No. No. No. No," I whispered. My eyes felt like they were focusing on that bloody spectacle in my foresight. My hands were shaking, but no matter what I did I couldn't draw my sight from the pain that I had created. The child's cries wouldn't cease. I found my hands over my ears and I vaguely heard my voice call out, "Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" It wasn't my mind that controlled me, though. My mind was still locked on that woman and child in the alley, staring in utter shock. It was as if I was in a blank void, the sounds and feelings surrounding me only vague versions of the originals. Then, I was released. The crying had stopped. I blinked as I felt tears on my face and felt that my throat was hoarse. In horror I found that during my lapse, I'd aimed at the child and I'd shot. Now I had the blood of children on my hands. Now I shook uncontrollably and backed away from the edge of the building. I shook my head again and let the tears run freely down my face.

"I am not a murderer. I am not a murderer. No, I'm not," I just kept repeating it to myself. I imagine that I went temporarily insane. I had killed a mother and her defenceless baby. I curled myself into a ball and sat there and wept, throwing up from the self-guilt and the horrid smell of burning flesh. Screams in the background made an orange glow that painted the horizon seem foreboding and dangerous. When Lieutenant Colonel Potter and two escort troops came to get me, I was back sitting at my rifle, looking as if nothing had happened to me. They took me back to the camp in the center of the city, where what remained of our unit had joined with the troops that were already here. We had had a casualty rate in the norm 10 of our unit. Luckily only one of our men had died. Another had sustained a bullet wound to the leg, but he would live.

As soon as I set up my sleeping bag in the women's tent I sat there and stared at the floor. One of the other women, another sniper, sat down beside me. She was a brunette with turquoise blue eyes that softened when she saw my awestruck face. Her name was Second Lieutenant Jennifer Wright. She had to be a year or two older than me.

"Your first day in the field?" she asked. I nodded. Jennifer sighed, "Not as glamorous as you thought, huh?" I shook my head.

"I-I killed a child. A poor, defenceless baby. I'm a monster…I-I," I stuttered, staring at my hands, "I have the blood of children on my hands!" I was slowly losing my mind. I started laughing, "I'm a murderer! I'm a murderer! Hell, we're all murderers!"

Jennifer slapped me as I started to laugh again, "Get a grip, Hawkeye!" One of my hands flew up to my cheek, gingerly touching the tender skin. The Second Lieutenant gave me a stony look, "The world hasn't ended and you're still alive. That's what matters. If you hadn't killed those people-"

"They would have gotten away!" I interrupted.

"No. They would have died anyway; someone else would have killed them. Stop getting so worked up about it. If it makes things easier, try not to think of them as human."

"That'll only prove what people say, that we're animals, dogs of the army!"

"If it makes my job easier emotionally, I don't care what people call me!" The Second Lieutenant said forcefully. I bit my lip, but then stubbornness furrowed my brow as I glared at her.

"I'm going to sleep, so bugger off." Jennifer looked offended, then shook her head and vacated the tent, going to get some food. I lay there in my sleeping bag, staring at the tent's white canvas wall. The burning yellow flames farther off lay a golden light that managed to be seen through the canvas. God, I was starting to hate this place. Death stank everywhere and now cries of men, women and children echoed on the breeze as their owners grieved for their fallen loved ones. I covered my head with my sleeping bag as I tried to block everything out, as I had done when I was a child. Fresh tears ran down my face. Dammit! I thought to myself, I'm being a sorry little weakling again. I wiped away the stray tears with the back of my hand and tried yet again to drown out the evils of the outside world with my sleeping bag.

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning in a dream that left cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I was in the building that I had sniped in. There was a frightened-looking woman running through the streets. She hid in the alley, just like she had in actuality. I set her in my scope and looked through it. In the dream, she had long, blond hair though. She was my sister, Karin. However, she spotted me right before I pulled the trigger. Her blue eyes widened as she let out an ear-piercing scream. Then I pulled the trigger. She fell, crimson blood dripping from the bullet hole in the center of her forehead. Her scream became mine as I awoke from the dream, writhing in my own self-hate. I shook from head to toe as Jennifer shot me a pained look. She shook her head and settled back onto her side, preferring to get back to sleep. The other women (there were two) looked at me worriedly as I shakily fell back into sleep.

That morning, I got myself a quick meal of whatever-the-hell-that-stuff-was-originally- had-gone-moldy-and-liquified and sat down briefly in the mess tent. I was joined by a certain raven-haired Major who was too arrogant to notice something bothered me.

"I hear that you had some nightmares last night, Lieutenant," he smirked. I scowled into my slop.

"Doesn't everyone, sir?" I scowled. He only seemed to be encouraged.

"Yes, but not everyone screams out in their sleep," He smirked. That smirk was starting to work its way under my skin. I felt my frustration rise as he smirked. He leaned closer to say something only to me, "I bet a night with me would solve those problems of yours."

I looked up at him, surprise evident on my face. That look. I had seen it many a time during my high school years. It was the look of a man that had any woman he wanted. I was determined not to let him win me over. I looked back at my slop and donned a smirk of my own.

"No," I said flatly. He blinked and that arrogant smirk was wiped clean off his face. He laughed slightly.

"No?"

"No," I repeated for him. He blinked and looked down at his own slop. He blew out a long breath while rubbing the back of his neck. I finished my slop and hurried out of the mess tent, hesitantly shouldering my M1-D again and seeing the Lieutenant Colonel to get my orders. I was to keep the same position as the day before and once again shoot any Ishbalan I saw. I saluted and walked out of his tent, wincing slightly as I left. When I reached my position, I couldn't bring myself to look into the alleyway across the street where the woman's body still lay, afraid that I'd see my sister lying there as in my dream. I shuddered slightly as I set up the rifle again.

After a long amount of time, the now-familiar sound of gunfire drew closer to my position. My ears pricked up as I identified which direction it was coming from. The faint sound of feet running on the stained stones on the streets drew me to my rifle sight. A disarmed Amestran was running away from an armed Ishbalan. I got the Ishbalan in the crosshairs and put my finger on the trigger. Then, the sound of the child's cries filled my mind again. I hesitated, but forced the thought into my mind that the Amestran would die if I didn't act. Thus, my hand shook, but I pulled the trigger and watched him crumple, a bullet dead center of his forehead. The soldier looked for me, spotted me and clasped his hands together in a thank you. I waved back and kept my eyes out for more people.

The days passed much like this and before I knew it, six months had passed. Jennifer and I had developed an extreme dislike of each other probably, I realized, because of my actions my first night. On the other end of the scale, I had become quite close to the Major, arrogant womanizer though he was. I had discovered that he was actually quite a kind person. I had seen him after he'd come back from the field. He'd isolated himself in his tent and cried silently. It was only by chance that I had come upon him. I'd been back early, making sure that a wounded soldier got back to camp safely. I'd walked by his tent and heard muffled sobs. I'd peered through the tent flap –luckily, his back had been turned- to see his shoulders shaking slightly, his arrayed gloves lying a few feet from him. I'd walked back to my own tent and prayed to any god that would listen that this stupid, stupid war would end. I'd felt like I'd been in that camp forever and a day. That was probably the reason why it came as such a surprise when the commanding officer uttered three words that sent every dog of the army scurrying around to collect their things.

"We're moving out."


	3. Gunfire

**A/N: Thanks for all those of you who reviewed! I appreciate all of the criticism and all the encouragement. To those of you who DIDN'T like it, thank you for saying so, your reviews are valued as it says that there is something I need to change. I apologise for the long paragraphs, that's just the way I write. I will try to shorten them, however. Until the next chapter, Goodbye.**

**3-Gunfire**

The company trudged almost lifelessly to another city, the dry wind whipping against our faces like a slave driver whipping his charges, urging them to go faster. The one benefit was the temporary end of gunfire in the background. It had become such a normal sound that I had learned to tune it out. Hearing the eerie silence for a change was strange to the ear.

The sky was cloudless and hazy, a bluish-grey colour almost paralleling the colour of the desert. Major Mustang said he almost wished it would rain; a departure from his usual profuse hate of any liquid that fell from the sky. I had realized early on that he tended complain about quite a lot, but that character trait had emerged at full force when he started complaining about his head burning from the sun on his raven hair, the sand paining his feet in the black military boots and anything to do with the desert, really. I imagined that it was just his way of masking the pangs of guilt that burned him on the inside as we moved from one execution ground to another, but it pushed the envelope of my tolerance.

In the six months that had passed since our the company's introduction onto the field, our eyes had slowly been going blank and our emotions internalized and masked. My brownish-red eyes had gone hard and blank and I was learning to suppress all individuality, becoming an automaton of the army, the perfect little soldier. The one thing that kept me tied to my sense of 'self' was my rivalry with Jennifer and my loyalty to Mustang. I had also seen a change in them. Jennifer had become icier and more detached, aloof. Her turquoise- blue eyes seemed as empty as the brief insults she occasionally threw at me. I had ceased to care long, long before, but our rivalry kept a shred of self awareness tied to our bodies. Mustang had gotten better at masking his frustration, but in his precious alchemy's equivalent exchange, he'd gained a stony expression and hard eyes that peered out at people, but never let them peer back. Kimbley seemed the same as ever; gleeful, suggestive, maniacal. I had come to the conclusion that he _enjoyed_ performing his deadly alchemy. I had witnessed it once. It was disgusting. I'd had to ask another alchemist (Armstrong in this case) about the details. Apparently, Kimbley used the chemicals already present in a person's body and rearranged them into an explosive. Boom.

In our next execution ground disguised as a city, we were once again divided into units. This time, the snipers were to protect the alchemists from a distance. From what I had seen already, however, I hardly thought that they were the ones who needed protection. Despite my opinions, I followed my orders dutifully, like the good little soldier I was. I was assigned to the unit protecting Armstrong. As we left the camp, Armstrong watched as I shoved a new clip into my rifle.

"Women like you shouldn't be out in a war," he told me. I looked up at him sharply.

"Sir, with all due respect, we're just as capable as you men. Just because we are "the fairer sex" doesn't mean that we can just sit by and wait for our men or that dreadful telegram to come home from some foreign country we've never laid eyes on. I have a job to perform, and I will perform it in the hopes that no more young souls like us will have to see what we've seen. Excuse me, Major," I said as I saluted and climbed into a building I'd be keeping an eye from. He sighed and watched me disappear with a pained expression on his face. I could tell that he was not meant to be in the army; his soul couldn't take the pain.

I set up on the roof of a building, watching Major Armstrong like the bird I was named after. I was in awe when he performed his alchemy. He slammed his fist into the ground and it formed a giant crater below him, knocking all the Ishbalans to the ground before it killed them. 'Damn,' I thought, 'Now I _really _don't think he's the one who needs protection.' However much his show of alchemy tried to tell me otherwise, I had to keep reminding myself that he was still human and therefore susceptible to physical attack. It wasn't just me watching him, though. There were others on the ground watching him, so I could afford a moment's mental slip, but not for long and not many times. Still, it was enough to keep me from having a mental breakdown.

I shot a few civilians, never looking at their bodies again after I'd shot them (one of the few methods I'd used to deal with it). No blood covered my hands, yet I saw it running down the gutters in the street. I looked on with morbid amusement as the people I shot fell and bled. I shook my head to try to clear it of that amusement. I didn't want to be like Kimbley, I couldn't end up like Kimbley; horrible, horrible man that he was. Then I continued the job at hand.

During my temporary lapse of concentration, several Ishbalans had made it past my line of sight. They made it up to my building and began to stealthily climb the stairs while I remained oblivious to their presence. Then, they burst through the door and shot at me. Lucky for me, they didn't have enough time to aim properly, but the bullet lodged itself in my shoulder. I winced and clumsily rolled to one side as they shot at me again. Adrenalin rushed through my system, aiding my speed and numbing the pain in my shoulder. I dove down a nearby stairwell and ran until I couldn't run anymore, hiding in another building.

I leaned against a wall and placed my palm against my injury, wincing slightly when it stung. When I inspected my hand, it was covered in blood. I was bleeding profusely and the bullet was sending waves of pain up to my head. I wanted to cry out, but I didn't dare. I laughed morbidly within. This must be how Ishbalans felt; being hunted like dogs. By this point, my entire torso was soaked in blood.

I leaned my head against the wall and this time smiled on the outside. 'This is going to _really_ hurt' I thought to myself as I drew a knife out of my back pocket. I hesitated before shoving it into the wound and fishing around for the bullet. The pain was excruciating. I ground my teeth together in pain as the blade scratched against bone. I found the bullet and cried out in pain as I pried it out of my shoulder. The bullet bounced across the floor with several sharp 'ping' noises. I felt hot tears from the pain running down my face and the sweat was dripping from my forehead. I tore some fabric from my pants with my good hand and pressed it against the wound to try to stay the bleeding. I had lost too much blood already, however, and soon faded into blackness.

"…Yo! Grunt! Wake up trooper!..." a familiar voice snarled in my ear. I faded in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of light in the perpetual darkness, hearing voices speak to me.

"…You had better wake up Hawkeye, that's an order!..."

"…Second Lieutenant…"

When I finally came fully to, the tent ceiling was dark, signalling that it was night out. I blinked to focus my eyes when I realized that –oh, my god- I was staring straight up at the cross sign on the med tent. My eyes widened as I realized 'Oh, GOD! My shoulder!' I tried to lean over, but I found that I didn't have the energy. Frustration built up in my chest and I tried to push myself up, only, this time to be gently pushed back down. I turned my head to see a fairly "high-and-mighty" looking Jennifer. I sighed and spoke in a raspy voice.

"Bitch. I wake up and you're the first thing I get to see?" I laughed weakly. She smiled and patted my hand.

"Glad to see you're still yourself," she laughed. I smirked and shook my head.

"God, I hurt so much," I complained, trying to move my arm which only resulted in waves of pain to swamp my brain. I swore into the air like… a soldier.

Jennifer looked rather pained, "I'll be back shortly." That was all she said before she upped and left. I got a nurse to prop me up as I tried to remember what happened. I remembered running into the building and prying out the bullet, but nothing beyond that. I supposed that I had passed out, but the pain and the blood loss were enough to account for that. Jen later returned with a blond soldier with blue eyes and a cigarette clutched between his teeth.

"Riza, this is Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc. He and Major Mustang found you and took you back here," she introduced the man, who nodded his head in greeting. I returned the gesture before asking what had happened to me.

"The Major and I were heading back to camp when an Ishbalan happened to run into the building you had hid in; possibly to try to find you. Once he made it inside and found you, he pointed a gun at you and almost shot. The Major was furious. Luckily, he torched the guy before he could shoot you. You almost bled to death, but fortunately, you won't get lead poisoning. Since you were already unconscious, he cauterized the wounds to stop the bleeding, but, like I said, you almost didn't make it. You are one lucky bitch," he said with a wry smile. I sighed and glared down at my errant arm, wondering when it would heal. I voiced my thanks, then asked to sleep. Havoc and Jennifer left the medical tent with brief 'get well' blessings. I nodded weakly before slowly receding back into darkness.

Later, I slowly woke up again to the sunlight filtering through the tent's canvas ceiling. I turned my head and glanced at the other patients, some of which I knew, some of which I didn't. The doctors seemed to crowd around one bed, the head doctor giving the occupant CPR as the machine connected to the guy continued to flat-line. Eventually, they gave up and disconnected the machine, the doctors patting each other on the back before pulling the sheets over the man's head. I stared back up at the ceiling and drew in a deep breath. I raised an arm to call the nurse and I asked what the date was. I sighed when I found out that it had been a week since I was shot. A familiar voice drew me out of my staring contest with the ceiling.

"Hey, Hawkeye. How are you?" I looked up at the Major, who was standing beside the medical cot. I raised my good hand in a salute and smiled slightly.

"Apologies for saluting with my left hand, sir," I said. He waved it off and restated his question.

"How are you?"

"I'm doing fine, thank you for asking, sir."

"I hope I didn't fry you too badly."

"Don't worry, sir, I like my meat well done." He laughed at my feeble attempt to lighten the oppressive air of the med tent. I sighed and shook my head, "Honestly, sir, I owe you my life. Thank you," I closed my eyes and gingerly touched the linen bandages on my shoulder.

"Get better, alright. That's an order," He told me, teasing me slightly. I nodded without opening my eyes, falling into an uneasy dream. He left the tent, pausing slightly to make way for the dead man being carried out, his dead weight bearing down on the soldiers that carried him. Mustang waited for them to pass and headed off to do whatever it was he did in his spare time.

The wind ripped past me as I stood on the northern beach in my dream, the cold seawater swirling around my feet and the moon gazing at its reflection in the mirror of the ocean. Jutting rocks gave the wind a voice as it made its way through the crevices in between them. I shuddered and hugged my body in an effort to stop the cold wind from biting my flesh. I was clothed in only a thin shirt and a skirt that waved around my knees like the water at my ankles. Slowly, the thunder of the ocean turned into the thunder of distant gunfire echoing across the desert and in this case water. The sound of the wind screaming through the craggy rocks of a northern beach turned into just that... screams.

They tormented my ears with cries of "Murderer!" and "You killed me, you BITCH!" and "My family's dead because of you!" I covered my ears and bent down to the water to find that it was no longer cold seawater that swirled around my ankles, but hot, vermillion blood. The moon was a large and ominous orange, glinting down on the crimson waters below it. A large wave dragged me into the expanse of blood that had once been the sea. I tried to cry out, but bitter blood filled my mouth instead. I was drowning in the blood of the people I had killed. The last thing I saw was the orange moon, glittering up above me in a purple velvet sky, teasing me, making fun of me, before I sank in the thick, vermillion blood.

I awoke again as the sun was setting over the tent. I sighed and wiped the sweat from my face with me good hand. It was going to be a long recovery.


	4. Front Lines

**A/N: Hello again! Wow. Chapter four already. I feel like singing… but I won't because you would all probably cover your ears in fright. (I got sick recentlythus my voice tends to crack at the moment) Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter.**

**4-Front Lines**

Five days after the Major's first (and only) visit, the doctors deemed me well enough to return to active duty. I sighed as I lay down in the women's tent. My arm was fully operational, however stiff the actions might be. I was glad that I was able to walk around again without a nurse hanging off my arm. It was just in time, as well. I was given transfer orders along with Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, and other soldiers. We were to go to a major battle being held to the North of our current position. I said my goodbyes to the other women, some of whom I had been friendly with. Not friends, really. This war was too dangerous for friends. Jennifer and I gave each other goodbye insults and glares as I exited the tent.

When we arrived at the battle site, the soldiers immediately rushed us into the commanding officer's tent before we could be shot by the enemy. The CO was a large, dark-skinned man who was bald, yet sported a black moustache so pointy that it seemed as if a person could be impaled on it. He was the Colonel Brasque Gran, the Iron Blood Alchemist. He issued us our orders and sent us on our way.

I was to go immediately into battle. I shouldered my new rifle and shoved a recently acquired pistol into its holster before heading off to be a good little sniper by the front. My ears were soon ringing from the loud bursts of gunfire and the calls of men around me as I crawled through the trenches. As I reached the Northern edge of the front lines, I crouched behind small dunes as I looked for a suitable area to shoot from. My eyes rested on a tall dune overlooking the front and part of the Ishbalan city. I scurried up to the top of the dune, set up my rifle and picked off the people who looked the most important or heavily armed.

When the Major entered the battlefield, he came up on the more Southern edge of the front line. I noticed that a few of the Ishbalans had started heading in his direction and picked them off, but I had to reload and couldn't get them all. As I was loading new bullets into the rifle, my eyes flitted from the battle, to the gun and back up to the battle; ever watching as the men I had missed worked their way closer to the Major. This was the first time I had ever actually seen Mustang use his flames. He just stretched out his arm and -with the subtle brush of one finger against another- ended those men's lives. I smiled inwardly, 'He can take care of himself, Hawkeye. Just worry about the Ishbalans who look important for now.' I thought as I pointed the rifle at another target.

After a few days of battle, the alchemists were summoned to Colonel Gran's tent. They were each given some sort of item that increased alchemical reactions as far as any of the troops knew. We watched as the alchemists receded back into their tent, a small wooden box clutched tightly in the hands of one of them. None of them returned from the tent for hours. Knowing that they were all scientists, I thought that they were probably poking and prodding whatever it was that had been given to them. I smiled within at the thought of Mustang holding something in a gloved hand and poking it with a long stick. **(A/N: Try it. It's actually an amusing scene… at least it is at three in the morning… The red blob in his hand and a fairly long stick. Pokepokepoke. Hehehe)**

The next day, the soldiers were told to escort the alchemists onto the battlefield. This included the snipers. I had my pistol at the ready, as it would do me more good than the rifle while in such close quarters with the enemy. I made sure that I was only a one or two steps behind Major Mustang. I had made a promise to myself that since he saved my life, I owed him. I had taken it upon myself to make sure that no harm came to him.

I scanned the surrounding area for any suspicious P's or O's (persons or objects). There was nothing too conspicuous. 'But then again,' I thought, 'It's the things that aren't conspicuous that are the most dangerous.' Undeterred, I kept my pistol at the ready. An eerie silence had settled over the reddish-brown sand where the bodies of the enemy fallen littered the land. Once again, there was a foreboding tension that made the soldiers fidget like jumpy horses. Mustang's eyes momentarily flitted over to me as he heard my gun safety click off.

"I don't like this, sir. It's too quiet," I said softly. He shook his head.

"I don't like this either, Lieutenant. It's like they up and left."

"This could be good. On the other hand, though, it could be…" I let my words hang. Our eyes connected as realization crept into our minds.

"An ambush," we whispered.

"Should I give the order, sir?" I asked, keeping my cool demeanour as my mind was racing.

"Let's wait a bit before… wait. What was that?" Mustang asked after seeing a shape skirt between dunes. He already knew what it was. The Major retracted his last statement and called out the order to retreat. Out of nowhere, Ishbalans started running over dunes, shooting at us while we tried to shoot at them. I aimed and shot, never missing a target, never paying attention to who it was.

"Major!" I yelled as I noticed him out of the corner of my eye at the head of the fray, a definite target for anyone on the enemy side. He slipped a ring onto one of his fingers and winced as he snapped those fingers together. An explosion the size and intensity of which I had never seen before erupted out of nowhere and engulfed the enemy, burning them into oblivion. Their shrieks of pain lasted perhaps only a second or two at most before they abruptly stopped. Blackened bone that hit the burned sand and white ash drifting off on the breeze like snow was all that remained of the force that had tried to ambush us.

Mustang just… stared. He stared at the contradiction of snow in the desert and the cleansed bones of the enemy. All the troops stared at him. At the feeling of all those eyes on his large back, his face hardened and he turned on his heel, heading back to camp. I jogged after him.

"Sir?" I called. All of the soldiers ahead of him were silent in their awe and cleared a path for him. As I drew even to him, I noticed that he held no expression on his face. There was only a blank void.

"Lieutenant?" he said coldly. I winced inwardly. The tone of his voice screamed 'back off'. So I did. I just stopped in my tracks and watched as he made his way back to the tents. I hoped to any god that would listen that he wasn't going to do anything stupid. Because, the only thing I couldn't protect him from was himself.

**A/N: Right. I know, it's a shorter chapter. Overall, a bit of a departure from my norm. Meh. Once again, I beg for reviews!**


	5. Wall of Sand

**A/N: I think the beginning of this chapter needs a rewrite BADLY, I don't particularly like it at the moment. In fact, I think I need to erase the whole opening and write it over. Damn. That's so aggravating. Anyway, I wasn't originally planning to introduce everyone's favourite comic relief; he just sort of introduced himself. Have fun with this chapter!**

**5-Wall of Sand**

Everything went downhill emotionally after the alchemists got whatever items they had been given. Several of them –including Mustang- retreated into their tents, only coming out to eat, receive orders and go to the bathroom. Then, there were the alchemists like Kimbley. I had heard some rumours that he was almost insane with joy. Apparently, -I also heard- he was being court-martialed for killing both allies and enemy troops. I didn't publicly display my concern over the subject; that was something for myself only, or so dictated my new army branded state of mind. On all of the occasions that I saw Mustang, he looked paler than usual and there were always dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.

We were separated into groups with an alchemist to each, which were to be sent to another city. I was once again assigned to Mustang's group. We were to travel temporarily with tyrannical Colonel Gran, the notion of which improved moral oh so much.

While we were traveling with Gran's unit, we passed through an Amestran medical camp. We were to stay there for one night, so I decided to have my shoulder checked again. The inside of the med tent was horribly surprising to the average Amestran soldier. Inside the canvas walls were both the light-skinned Amestran soldiers of the West and the dark-skinned Ishbalans of this land. I was checked by a charming doctor with kind eyes and a caring smile. Dr. Rockbell, her name was. When I asked her about the plethora of people in the recovery room, she laughed.

"Really, that's a bit closed-minded of you. Although, being a soldier, I suppose you're trained that way. It's nothing really. My husband and I just want to save as many lives as possible. It's the oath we take as doctors. That pertains not only to our own people, but to the Ishbalan people as well."

"I see," I muttered and gave her one of my now rare smiles, "That's very kind of you."

"Like I said, it's nothing. Don't thank me for doing my job. Anyway, there you go," she smiled and patted my shoulder lightly, "You look like you're almost fully healed. Just don't strain it too much, alright."

"Alright. Thank you ma'am."

"No, thank you. It's nice to see a soldier with no Y chromosome out there for a change."

I waved goodbye as I exited the tent, glancing around the recovery room at some of the children of Ishbal staring back at me with their blood red eyes, clinging to the bed sheets like a safety blanket, which was exactly what it was reduced to being. They clung to it as if their vary lives depended on it. Which they did. As soon as they let go and returned outside, they were the enemy again, they would be shot at again. As long as they clung to those woven threads, they were safe. I passed with reluctance through the tent flap, leaving that sanctuary and emerging back into a war-ridden land.

We spent the night at that medical outpost. More to let the troops recuperate than for medical treatment. On my way from the mess tent, I heard a two gunshots. Instinctively, I pulled out my pistol and moved to investigate. It was at the Rockbell's tent. I heard people speaking inside.

"They were only trying to save as many lives as possible!"

"The lives they save eventually kill my men."

I moved the flap slightly and peered inside. My insides writhed in horror. There were the doctors that were in charge, the Rockbells, lying in a bloody heap on the ground. And who was standing above them with the gun, but Mustang. He looked as if he was going to go insane. Looking back, I think he did lose a part of his sanity.

Later into the night, I stood for a moment and closed my eyes, breathing in the smell of the desert, burning it in my mind so that I would never forget. The Ishbalans, ill or strong, were all being shipped out to designated camps. Along with the protests of the Isbalans the faint sound of rushing wind met my ears. It was an unfamiliar sound, unlike the sound of the winds I had grown used to by now. This was a harsh wind, a carnivorous wind, a wind that sounded like it would eat anything in its way. I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side. What I saw made my face drop its mask for a second. A towering wall of sand was rushing straight towards us.

I froze for a moment in complete awe of the phenomenon barrelling towards the camp. Men and soldiers were running about, trying to secure things down. I tried to help, but probably ended up getting in the way as I had no clue what to do. It was then that the wall of sand rolled over us. Sand whipped past my face and burned the exposed flesh of my hands and neck. I coughed on the sand that had quickly coated my throat and yelled in pain as it stung my eyes. I raised my sleeve to my mouth and nose to breathe through and stumbled through the sand-filled air, half-blind to where I thought a tent would be. When my hand hit canvas I followed it, coughing through my sleeve as I tried to find an entrance.

I got to the tent flap and, as I had expected, it was fully sealed. I squinted and fumbled with the zipper, finally unzipping it enough to fall inside. Sand blew into the tent as another person braved the winds and zipped the tent closed again. I coughed and spat the sand out of my mouth and rubbed my eyes in an attempt to clear them of the hellish grains that clouded my vision. The person who had zipped the tent back up kneeled down and placed a hand on my shoulder. Squinting, I made out the figure of Jean Havoc, his uniform dulled by the brown particles of sand that dusted it.

"Hey, y'alright?" he asked. I coughed again, but nodded my head in the affirmative. Outside, I could hear the wind and sand pelting the canvas walls. As my sight adjusted to the unnatural dark, I looked around the tent. It was a fairly small one that held two people that I knew and one that I didn't. These people included Havoc, myself, Mustang and a man with square glasses and messy (A/N: or spiky, take your pick) hair.

"Sirs," I stated as I stood and saluted. Mustang nodded, signalling that I could be at ease. I let my shoulders drop slightly as I raised my hand to rub my eyes again. The man I didn't know sighed.

"Looks like we're just going to have to let the sandstorm blow over before we can go outside." He rubbed the back of his neck. Seeing my unfamiliar face, he turned to me and offered a hand, "Captain Maes Hughes, at your service." I took his hand in a handshake and choked back a cough.

"Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, sir," I stated. He smiled and shook his head slightly.

"We're all in the same boat for at least a day, Hawkeye, I think we can drop the formalities at least for now. Right Roy?" he called back to the Major. The man in question just shrugged from his position near the flapping wall.

"Whatever."

Hughes shrugged and fell back onto a chair in the corner of the tent. It was then that I took in my surroundings. The tent walls were unnaturally dark , causing the inside of the tent to seem darker than usual. There was a small desk in one corner on top of which lay assorted papers sporting alchemic nonsense and a loaded pistol. In front of this was the small chair that Hughes had draped himself over. To the left of the desk was a bag of personal belongings bearing the name MAJ. ROY MUSTANG sewn on to the cover flap. There was a small bunk next to a wall on the other side of the room that Havoc now sat at. Mustang was farthest from the door, sitting on the ground near the back.

I listened to the wind howl for a few more minutes before Havoc asked the question that had plagued my mind.

"So, Captain, what brings you to this hellhole?" he asked. Hughes looked pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Just checking up on my best buddy, Roy," he said perkily.

"I doubt that that's all. Why are you really here, Maes?" A voice from the corner asked. Hughes sighed.

"I'm here about the info you asked me for," he stated. With that, Mustang actually looked up with concern in his eyes.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yup. It's over fifty thousand total. That's for both sides combined." Mustang looked back at the ground while Havoc and I looked at each other in confusion.

"What is?" I asked, somehow thinking I wouldn't like the answer. I was right. Mustang looked up at me with a sad look on his face.

"The death toll."

I balked. Over fifty thousand people dead. Ishbalans, Amestrans, all of us. I winced when I thought that over the past year, I had contributed to that number. When I had shaken Hughes' hand, I had noticed that he had the calice on his middle finger common to most people with writing jobs. He had not added to this enormous number.

"This isn't a war, this is a massacre," Mustang mumbled, then laughed, "Alchemists like us are horrid creatures. Horrid, horrid creatures. Disgusting, dirty, deviant, ungodly pieces of filth," he said, each word more strained with unshed tears. I noticed his glance shifting over to the pistol on the desk every once in a while, "The Ishbalans are right, we _should_ all die! Every last one of us! We aren't creators, we're _destroyers_!"

"Roy," Maes tried to speak. Mustang seemed to not hear his friend. Instead, he was focusing all his attention on the pistol on the table. When he started to get up, I was there before him. I grasped the pistol, thrjew it across the room and walked up to him. I hesitated for a split second, but then slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Wake up Major!" I yelled. Havoc and Hughes were staring open-mouthed at us. Mustang, drew a hand up to the tender skin of his cheek. Then anger grew on his face.

"What the hell was that for!" he yelled back.

"Did you honestly think that that would solve anything? Did you think that your death would stop innocent people from dying? Come back to reality. If you want to stop this massacre, than do something about it! You're the Flame Alchemist!"

"Only the Führer has that kind of power!"

"I don't know. Then become the Führer!" I yelled and then blushed slightly at the absurdity of that comment. Slightly intimidated by his intense dark gaze, I looked at my feet, "I'm sorry, sir, that was out of line."

"Damn right it was," he growled before resuming his sitting position. I retreated back into one of the tent corners, making sure I brought the pistol with me. There I sat, looking out over the dumbstruck men and the fuming one. Havoc mouthed "Nice" in my direction. I fixed him with a glare that soon got him off my back. Hughes sat with a troubled look on his face. Mustang sat rubbing his cheek and grumbling something that I didn't catch. I had a strong feeling that it pertained to me though.

The storm howled like a banshee outside those four protective canvas walls, the masses of sand riding with the wind rapping against the taut fabric like hands on a drum. An hour had passed in complete silence before Mustang spoke up again.

"That death toll is insane… Hawkeye …Riza," he said. I looked up at the sound of my given name. He had used it to get my attention, "You were right. Someone has to put a stop to it. That person is the Führer. So, as crazy and impossible it may seem, I will do exactly what you suggested; I will become Führer," he paused to let the words sink in, "Jean, Maes, Riza," he said, looking at each of us as he said our names, "Can I count on you to follow me?"

"Roy, buddy, I'm always with 'ya!" Hughes grinned, giving the thumbs-up.

"Sure, I got no problem with it," Havoc shrugged and smirked.

I hesitated. Gamble my life away on a half-minded chance like that? I was ready to say 'no' when I saw the determined gleam in Mustang's gaze. I sighed in defeat.

"Riza?"

"Sir, I will follow you anywhere," I nodded and smiled slightly. He grinned.

"Thank you. All of you. When I'm Führer, I-"

"I'd be a little more discreet with those declarations, sir, some would call them treason," I stated. (A/N: Yes, I took a line from the eng FMA, so what. Don't like the English as much as the Jap, though.) Hughes grinned.

"She's got your back already, Roy."

Mustang locked his dark gaze with my amber one, "That she does… That she does."

**(A/N: There, a longer chapter to make up for my shorter one before. Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I had temporary writers block. Meh. I actually made it into the Royai Army! I'm so happy! Anyways. Enjoy!)**


	6. To Play With Fire

**A/N: Hello again! I apologize for not updating recently, I had major writer's block. Plus, I apologize for royally screwing up the ranks. However, I am in no mood to go back and change them, so please, bear with it. As always, I bow to reviewers and I hope you like the new chapter! (The Royai will finally be showing through!)**

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6-To Play With Fire**

We left the med outpost as soon as our newly acquired transport trucks had had all of the sand coaxed out of the engines. After months of never hearing an engine, the sound came as a surprise to me. The deep rumble of the trucks' motors contrasting with the characteristic background chatter of outpost camps. It was a surreal reminder of why I had come out into this hellhole. I had wanted to protect my country from the 'savage Ishbalites'. To my utter disgust, that meant everyone. From the average artisans to the priests to the leaders of the country. Everyone. Men, women, children, I killed them all in cold blood. It makes you wonder who are the real savages when you see soldiers beating a helpless child with the butt of his rifle.

I managed to deal with it by thinking that they weren't human. I had to think that they were just more of the animals back home that I had to kill in order to survive. They weren't someone's mother or father, someone's brother or sister, someone's daughter or son. They were livestock that had to be killed to keep us alive. It is because of this barrier soldiers like us put up that we are hated my so many. Because of that barrier we are called dogs of the military. That, in part, is true. We herded the sheep into a pen where they were stripped of their wool and their hope. Many, if not all of which died in the process.

It took us three days out of the outpost to reach the city. It was only Major Mustang, Lieutenant Havoc, myself and two other soldiers whom I was only just acquainted with. A First Lieutenant Charles Haywood, field medic and a rookie that had less experience in the field than the Führer's secretary. He was a mousy little man of twenty-nine who was obviously not suited for a gun. His shoulders were raised up next to his ears in a permanent display of fright and his eyes were wide and scared-looking. His sandy hair had flecks of grey in it, displaying his obvious constant fear. He tended to stutter when he spoke and he walked around slowly, constantly looking over his shoulder as if the enemy would leap out of the bushes at any given time.

Then, there was Second Lieutenant Gregory Finch, a man of twenty-three and a totally different person in comparison to Lieutenant Haywood. He was a good six foot four with a head of chestnut brown hair and a glint in his brown eyes that told us that he was addicted to his power. He carried himself with the air of a man who was confident about his abilities and he handled his weapon as if he was born with it in his hands. It was a pity that he was an utter fool.

Havoc was the same as ever. His blue eyes still scanned things with a lazy sort of attentiveness and his blond hair was still messy and seemingly out of place. He was the sort of person that gave off an air of laziness while keeping a watchful eye on the others. His cigarette still clutched between his teeth (unlit, might I add) he trudged along beside us same as ever.

And then there was the Major Roy Mustang. He was as troublesome as ever, if not more so than usual. He had recently tried to turn some of the water into alcohol to keep his mind off of the new mission. It was a complete failure. He only ended up with an ash-smeared face and his raven hair messier than usual. He still carried himself with that cocky air and he still had that oh so annoying smirk, but he'd lost some of the bounce in his step and the smirk seemed authentic only to those who didn't know him as Havoc and I had come to. To us, it was just a way of him masking his inner workings.

We arrived at the city under the cover of darkness. The velvet sky harboured a powdering of aloof stars and the globe of a cold full moon above. The silver light on the sands provided us with enough sight to get a firm footing along the dunes. We were all completely silent. We knew that if we made too much noise, we were dead.

I drew out my pistol and clicked off the safety. I glanced over my shoulder at Lt. Haywood, who was –no surprises- shaking like a leaf. Mustang had put his blank expression back on to hide any sort of anxiousness or pre-emptive guilt. Havoc and Finch sort of stood back and watched from behind. I kept my index finger on the trigger as my eyes scanned the area.

I felt a heaviness weigh down my heart as Mustang's expression remained stony. I knew he hated what he was doing; I knew that he felt so incredibly guilty about all of the lives he had taken. For a moment, all I wanted was to take him in my arms and tell him that he didn't have to kill, to tell him he could cry. I kicked myself inwardly afterward, though and wondered where the thought had come from.

The city was totally unaware of our presence. We got within twenty metres of the first buildings before the troops held back a few steps while Mustang shakily stretched out his hand and slipped on the red ring. Brushing his fingers together, he created the spark that expanded into a mushroom of fire. The city block was instantly in flames, hundreds of people awoken from their sleep to the pain of their flesh roasting off their bones. City block after city block, he incinerated the whole city in a manner of minutes

Roy looked on in awe as the night sky was tinted orange. Gluttonous flames feasted on the wooden structure of buildings and their occupants. The tongues of flame seemed to reach for the sky, wanting to touch it, just to prove that it could. The screams of burning men, women and children almost seem to be fuel for the fire as the flames climbed higher and higher, taking the sky in its deadly embrace.

Roy seemed to be in his own world; seeing, but not seeing the flame-lit city before him, hearing, but not hearing the fading shrieks on the breeze blowing around him. His face bore a stupefied look, his eyes wide and unfocused and his face pale even in the orange glow of the flames.

Haywood, Finch and Havoc all bore expressions of complete and utter awe. To them, it was as if a fire god had stepped down from the heavens and possessed the body of the young man in front of them. No mortal man should have power that great and that absolute. What was the saying? Absolute power corrupts absolutely? Mustang was a mortal man with the power of a god. That power was corrupting his soul with waves of guilt that were wearing down his spirit like the crashing waves on a cliff. If he was left alone, he would crumble.

For all that the four of us were supposed to offer protection, we were powerless to do anything except watch. With military precision, Roy turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. He cringed as Finch placed a hand on his shoulder as he passed, the Lieutenant beaming at him.

"Nice job there, Flame. Really taught those Ishbalite bastards a lesson, eh?" he said with a grin.

Mustang stopped and looked Finch in the eye, a cold stare silencing the Lieutenant. He brushed the man's hand aside and spoke in a deadpan tone, increasing his menacing aura.

"Don't touch me, Lieutenant. And never speak to me like that again, or I'll put you in for speaking out of line," Roy growled, a murderous look in his straight, cold stare. Finch blinked and raised his hand in a salute, saying a curt "Yes, sir" before falling back in line with the rest of us.

The moon wasn't nearly so friendly as we left. It was a foreboding orange globe hanging in the sky, stained with blood and fire. It was just like the moon of my nightmares.

Throughout the long walk back, I stared at Mustang's cloaked back. It was rigid, ramrod straight; betraying the internal war that was threatening to forever tie his soul to the land where he had killed so many. I winced when I thought of my own torment, countless nightmares that deprived me of sleep.

We finally returned to where we had camped, where we retreated into our tents. I held back, though and sat on a dune, looking over the five tents below me. I sighed and just leaned back into the sand, covering my face with my navy-clad arms. The weight of the pistol was still in my hand, though I let it slip so that it hung from the metal surrounding the trigger **(A/N: I couldn't find out what it was called, so if anyone knows, please tell me!)**. The screams had long since died along with their owners, but we all still heard them.

I sighed. If I knew Mustang, he'd be beating himself up about it. I took a deep breath and sat up again, holstering my pistol. Standing up, I shimmied down the sand dune towards the tents. The light was on inside, so I stood outside the entrance and cleared my throat.

"Sir?" I asked through the tent flap, "May I come in?" I heard rustling from the inside and Mustang's voice met my ears.

"Sure, Lieutenant," his deadpan voice drifted through the flap to me. I pushed the canvas flap to one side carefully and stepped inside. Mustang sat on his cot, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes, but a determined and stubborn look on his face. A candle burning on the floor in the middle of the tent cast flickering shadows on the walls and casting part of his face in shadow. Beyond the dark shadow, though, still lurked that ever-present feeling of despair. I felt my insides work in a knot because I had a feeling I couldn't help him. However worked up my insides were, though, I let none of it show past my mask.

"Yes?" he asked, wondering why the hell I was in his tent. I wondered how to phrase my next question.

"Are you alright, sir? You seemed a little…" I trailed off, looking for the right word.

"A little what?"

"A little out of it, sir," I concluded. He looked sharply at me and tried to busy himself by absently drawing transmutation circles on his open palm.

"Is that so?" he mused, a wry smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. I nodded stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Hawkeye, I feel I can suitably trust you," he sighed. I cocked my head slightly to try to understand where that fit in the conversation, if it be a conversation at all yet. He took a deep breath as if trying to suppress something. Most likely any emotions that threatened to gush out, "Sometimes I doubt whether I have the integrity to make it to the top," he confessed.

"Don't think like that, sir."

"But it's true."

"Major Mustang," I sighed, once again proving myself as 'the voice of reason', "We need someone in power who understands war. Someone who understands the amount of blood and pain that is involved with it. Who better than a soldier that lived through Ishbal? Since you have that experience, you will be able to make wiser decisions for the good of the country and its inhabitants."

Mustang put his head in his hands and spoke through his palms, "You call this living?"

I slowly walked over to him and sat down on my legs so that I could be on the same level, "No, I call it surviving. Major, you would make an excellent Führer because you understand the ferocity of war. Where one doesn't live, one survives from day to day. Don't leave that task for someone less apt then yourself. Otherwise there could be more wars in the future, more Ishbals. Don't let that happen, sir," I paused, staring at his bowed head. I saw his shoulders start to shake and his breathing was more laboured, as if he was trying to control his sobs. Which was exactly what he was trying to do. He looked up at me with a look of despair so great that I felt my heart melt at the sight.

"Hawkeye?" he leaned in closer to me, making my face flush slightly.

"Sir?"

He leaned into my shoulder and wept silently. Where he had learned to cry without making a sound I would never know, but maternal instinct won me over and I disregarded that detail. I pulled him into an embrace and held him close, hoping to offer some comfort to a tormented soul.

"I'm sorry," was all he managed in choked, halting words barely above a whisper. My mind was screaming _This is wrong!_ but my body acted upon its own accord. I leaned my head against his and closed my eyes, wishing that this situation could have been under better circumstances.

_This is ironic_, I thought, _Perfect little soldier that I am, I'm disobeying one of the principal rules: no fraternization. _I blinked as I felt his own arms wrap around me. He had composed himself by now and whispered in my ear in a voice deeper than his usual tone.

"We're surviving from day to day, so let's try to live like today is our last."

I could only nod numbly in response. My heart was racing and my mind went blank. Roy's face was dangerously close, and I shivered slightly, although my mind was still screaming at me to stop. He paused for a moment before pressing his lips against mine in a not-quite-innocent kiss. I felt my face grow hot in a definite blush and it felt as if the bottom of my stomach had dropped out.

It was only then that my mind took charge again. I gently pushed him away, breaking that kiss. I shook my head at him and stood up, backing away slowly.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that, it's not allowed. You can't afford to have your reputation shot by something like that. I-I'm sorry," I apologized and with that turned on my heel and marchedto the top of a dunewith what little was left of my dignity, leaving him alone again.

My heart hurt so much that I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I just sat on a dune on sentry duty and let myself hurt. _This is what you get for playing with fire,_ I thought bitterly, _Get too close and you'll only get burned._


	7. A City of Flame

**Disclaimer: I don't own Monty Python and the Holy Grail, either.**

**7-A City of Flame**

Later that night Havoc was on sentry duty and I had retreated back into my tent. No matter how I tried to lead my mind onto other subjects, somehow it kept returning to the incident involving a particular Major. No fraternization. The thought echoed around in my head as I absently brushed my fingertips over my lips. No fraternization.

I glared at the blank ceiling, spiting it for its lack of distraction. The moon faintly created a halo of light obscured by clouds of fading smoke, thinning like cotton spread over too large an area. Another wave of guilt crashed into me like a giant wave as I remembered how I had left that broken man in his tent alone on the floor when someone should have stayed with him. I knew he wouldn't try anything, he wanted to be Führer too badly. I couldn't keep myself from remembering the look in his eyes as he had stared at that pistol during the sand storm.

A muted gunshot tore me back to reality. If I hadn't been awake, chanced are, I wouldn't have heard it. I heard a faint grunt of pain that could only have come from Havoc. I sat up and reached instinctively for my silver pistol, switching off the safety. I slunk, near silent to the tent flap, where I peered around the edge of the canvas. The silhouette of a man (whom I could only hope was Lieutenant Havoc) was doubled over, stumbling down the dune towards my tent. In case the man _wasn't_ Havoc, I adjusted my grip on the pistol. The man almost fell though my 'doorway' when he came to the threshold. I pointed my gun at the intruder, daring him to try something. He held up a hand in surrender and called out my name in a harsh whisper.

"Hawkeye, thank God," he sighed, clutching his leg. I bent down to feel his hand which had a small amount of blood seeping out of it. He winced slightly at the pressure, but a wry smirk tugged at his mouth, "'Tis only a flesh wound. Didn't hit a bone, I'll be fine. There are some Ishbalites that I figure are remnants from the city around a mile away."

I nodded and stood again, "I'll rouse the others, you stay here." Jean sighed and leaned back against the taut tent canvas.

"No arguments here."

I dashed out of my tent and into Finch, Haywood and Mustang's tents consecutively. When I shook Finch awake, I was greeted with a long stream of swearwords as he batted my hand off of his shoulder. He glared groggily up at me as I frowned down at him.

"The hell do you want?" He grunted my frown deepened, but I stood up straight.

"Get up, Finch, we're under attack," I said curtly before briskly leaving him to wait for my words to make it from his ears to his sleep-clouded brain. Haywood was clutching a rifle to himself with clammy hands while he slept. I woke him more gently than I had Finch, for I was afraid that he'd shoot me if I spooked him. He groggily opened his eyes and took a second to focus.

"Luten'nt… Hakkay," He slurred near unintelligibly. I stood straight and saluted to my superior before pointing to the rifle still clutched in his hands.

"You'd better load that, sir, we're under attack."

Haywood's eyes widened and he gained his regular tremble from head to toe, as if he still heard gunfire and artillery for the first time. His eyes held a pleading in them which broke my heart below my cold façade, "Why me?" he mumbled, "I have a family. A two-year-old and a newborn."

I shook my head and frowned, letting my mask fall slightly. I just looked at him with as sympathetic an expression as I could muster at the time and said softly-

"The enemy doesn't care, sir."

With that, I entered the Major's tent. He was asleep against the tent wall, the candle in center of the floor which had previously been fresh was now flickering at the end of its life. Lord knows why, but the entire scene managed to banish me to the entrance for a split second, my body hesitating where my mind did not. The second seemed to drag on before I shook my head and hesitantly strode inside, feeling for all the world like some invisible force wanted me to bolt back to the door.

I touched his shoulder and –I must admit- shook him awake more violently than was needed. He jumped under my touch and groggily fixed his blurry eyes on my face.

"Riizaa?" he blinked up at me, still not fully awake. I felt my face heat up and proceeded to back away. He shook his head, clearing the fog of sleep from his mind. I saw his gloves lying close to my feet, so I picked them up and tossed them over to Mustang (his reaction time still down, they hit him in the head). He blinked at me, as if to say "What the hell is going on?" before I saluted.

"We're under attack, sir. Lieutenant Havoc sustained a graze from a sharpshooter perhaps a mile away. He reasons that they must be remnants from the city. Your orders, sir?" I asked, staring straight at the wall. Mustang stood quickly, slipping his gloves over his hands. Staring me straight in the face, he ordered-

"Assemble the troops. Get them here _now_. I don't care whether they're still half-asleep. Now go!" He waved his hands in a manner to indicate I should go quickly. I briskly gathered the rest of the troops, allowing Havoc to lean on me while he limped back to Mustang's tent. I could see a flicker of concern cross Roy's face when he saw Havoc's leg, but that disappeared when he started issuing our orders.

"Each take one personal item from your tent and meet me outside. We are temporarily abandoning the camp," He said firmly. Finch growled in protest.

"But sir, we can fight them!" he argued. Mustang gave him a sharp look.

"I am not going to take unnecessary risk when the lives of my men could be at stake. If you wish, you may stay behind and fight, however, all those willing to come with me will leave. Who's with me?" he asked, looking at each of us individually. I stepped up beside him, as did Havoc (with my help) followed by Haywood. Finch glared at all of us before stalking out of the tent and perching on the top of a dune. He loaded all of his weapons and placed them somewhere on his person. I shook my head and looked towards Roy. His face was as stony and emotionless as ever. He collected a letter and stuffed it in his pocket before hurrying the rest of us along to get our one personal item. Haywood took a picture of his family; a very pretty young brunette smiling, showing a baby to the camera. Havoc got me to bring him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I packed a small bag full of ammunition and quickly grabbed a framed medal from beside my pillow. The plaque beneath it read:

**In honour of**

**Colonel Hawkeye**

**For sacrificing her life for the sake of her subordinates**

**You will be missed**

My mother's. Presented to me and my father after she died. The military was truly in my blood. My grandfather, my mother and now me. I didn't bother looking fondly at it like I often did, knowing that time was of the essence. I hurried back to the Major, who was waiting outside his tent for me. Havoc leaned on Mustang's arm and Haywood clutched the photograph and the rifle to him as if they were the only things securing him to this world. I hurried over to them and Roy asked Finch-

"Are you sure you want to stay and fight?"

Finch nodded and smirked, "I can take those bastards any day. It'll be nothing."

Roy shook his head and looked pleadingly up at the Second Lieutenant, obviously not really prepared to leave him to die. I expect that he only left because gunfire started erupting from over the dunes. We hurried away, following Mustang wherever he was going. I turned my head to look at Finch again; he was on his stomach on the dune, shooting at the enemy with a rifle. It was the last we ever saw of him alive.

I don't remember how long we walked through the sand, but a blood-red sun was just starting to appear over the horizon when we reached _it_. The Ishbalite city that the Major had been ordered to burn along with all of its inhabitants. Buildings were blackened and crumbling, sand had been melted into glass which the red sun bounced off of, making it seem as though the city were still in flames.

Roy, even in the sun's fiery light looked paler than usual. He shook his head and continued into the city, for all the world trying to ignore the black bones, the rippled glass and the thick layer of ash that coated the ground. He drifted off a few times, as was evident in that he tripped over a bottle encased in hardened ash. I knelt down to help him up and he clung to my arm like a small child. He never looked me in the eye, though. I noticed in his hand he clutched a small golden locket. It was small, made for a child. The gold casing was melted open and a singed picture inside depicted three Ishbalan people. A man, a woman and a girl that couldn't be more than ten. Mustang saw me staring and smiled bitterly.

"A reminder; so that I never forget the sins that I committed in the name of the state," he said quietly. I nodded and looked behind me to the other men. Havoc and Haywood limped along behind us, the latter looking as if he were going to jump out of his own skin. He still clutched the photograph to his heart with his free hand. Havoc winced when he put pressure on his leg, but overall looked fine, if a bit pale. I looked back at Mustang and noticed some blood dripping to the ground.

"Sir, your hands are bleeding," I remarked. Mustang blinked and looked down at his hands, which were littered with cuts ranging from shallow to deep ranging from his fingertips to his lower palm. He swore and started sucking on the bleeding cuts, spitting out the shards of glass that came with the blood. He shook his head and told me that he'd be fine, but he grudgingly let Haywood bandage his hands before we set off again.

We heard gunfire in the distance and the bullet hit a patch of ash by our feet. Lieutenant Haywood nearly jumped out of his skin. I took Havoc from the Lieutenant and we hurried into an alley. Haywood was so shaken that I almost had to order him to clean Havoc's leg wound, him being my superior notwithstanding. I stood lookout from the mouth of the alley, my silver pistol at the ready. I flicked a piece of blond hair out of my vision and scanned the streets like the animal I was named for. Hawkeye.

No movement could be seen anywhere. I was nervous, though. I must have resembled a small, nervous horse; constantly shifting my weight and looking around for possible danger. It wasn't only me that was excited; Havoc and Mustang were also quite fidgety. If we were scared, Haywood was frantic. Or he must have been inside. An odd calm had settled over his outward features as he bandaged Major Mustang's hands; as if the fear he had constantly carried with him had just up and left. The look in his eyes, though, said that he was far past afraid. His emotional core couldn't handle the amount of fear that was packed inside that mousy frame of his. To distract him, Mustang started talking to him about his family.

"So, you're married?" he asked. Haywood nodded.

"Yup, and I got myself a lovely daughter, too. Her name's Emily. She's turning five this year," he said, a bit of pride leaking into his voice and a small smile gracing his face.

I focused my attention back on the streets. The sunlight was casting long shadows across the ground and in corners, making it near impossible to tell what was shadow and what wasn't. I cursed beneath my cold façade and concentrated even more to try to distinguish animate object from inanimate. There! The flash of metal caught my eye. I had barely yelled "Everyone down!" before a gunshot ricocheted off Haywood's medical case and into a wall. We all dropped to the ground instantly. Except for Haywood.

"Get down, sir!" I yelled at him. He stood there looking like a deer caught in headlights. I looked back at Mustang, "Sir, make a wall or something!" Mustang nodded, but paused, evidently trying to remember the transmutation circle for it. Another bullet exploded against the wall above me. "First Lieutenant, _get down!_" I cried as realization crept into his eyes. Mustang was almost finished. He slapped his bandaged hand onto the circle and the wall started to go up. As it did, another gunshot rang through the crisp air. A small gasp of pain drew our eyes away from the thick stone wall that had, just seconds before, been solid earth, Terra Firma. We looked over at Haywood. An expression of surprise was plastered on his face as he fell forwards into the sand and the ash.

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**A/N: Another chapter bites the dust! Ha! I do feel that this will end within the next two or three chapters. However, I may be willing to write a sort of continuation of the story. I have an idea pertaining to Ed and Al's childhood that I could do. (I'm feeling rather evil). Until then, ciao!**


	8. Last Stand

**A/N: Welcome to the second-to-last chapter of this fanfiction. Yes, second-to-last. I have already written out the last chapter and it feels bitter-sweet having to end it. Please expect the last chapter to be posted up in a few days. Good news, though! I am working on my next story which is to be entitled "Pentacle". It's going to be a murder mystery sort of thing starring Hughes, Ed and Al. How many Hughes-based fics do you see, eh? A preview will be posted with along with the 9th and last chapter.****

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8-Last Stand

"Lieutenant Haywood!" Mustang yelled, getting to his feet and rushing to his subordinate. He rolled the man onto his back and stared in horrified surprise at the bloody ring staining his blue uniform a sickly colour. Past the wall, I could vaguely hear the cries of the Ishbalans as they issued guttural orders to each other. I picked myself up off of the ground and immediately grabbed Haywood's dented med kit and took it over to –dare I say it- his body.

The bullet wound had passed straight through his stomach, leaving a bloody hole its wake. He coughed, letting crimson blood spill from the corners of his mouth like small streams. He looked up at us with pain and a pleading look. Mustang was already ridding his subordinate of his coat and the white shirt underneath, exposing the bullet wound in Haywood's bare chest. Everything was red. A piece of fabric that had been lodged in there would never have been seen.

The Major glanced up at his wall every now and then, hearing people banging against it with something. Haywood's head lolled from side to side as he moaned in pain. He started closing his eyes, but I tapped the side of his face until he opened them again.

"Lieutenant Haywood! Stay with us. Talk to us about something… Your family! Tell us about your family!" I told him. He nodded numbly and started out in a weak voice.

"My-my daughter…Emily and I… we- we'd play for hours… in the backyard wi-" he tensed up and gasped in pain as I cleaned out the wound, flushing out any sand that had gotten in and searching for any fabric that could cause infection.

"It's alright, keep going," I said softly, casting a glance over to Mustang. He caught my eyes and shook his head slightly, indicating that this man wouldn't live. I winced on the inside and looked down at the man who was struggling to tell us about his daughter and their puppy, Russet playing in the backyard. Struggling to tell us about her first ballet recital, how he'd taken her and her mother out for a treat afterwards. He was struggling to pour out his life's pride and joy to us while tears running down his face turned brownish-red as they intermingled with blood, sweat and sand.

"My one regret is not being able to see my wife anymore," he said weakly, "And not being there to see my Emily grow up." He knew he was going to die.

I felt my own heart break as I took my gun from its holster and placed the barrel against his head, "No," I said shakily, "You'll see it. I promise." Haywood turned his gaze to me in silent thanks before I shut my eyes and pulled the trigger. I got up shakily, letting out a strangled breath and pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over the edge. A blue glow pulled my eyes away from my blood-spattered gun, the crimson blood shining with the silver underneath. Major Mustang had scratched a transmutation circle in the wall and had created a hole into the building beyond. I picked up Haywood's abandoned rifle and shoved his bloodied dog tags into my pocket.

Mustang already had Havoc, so I cast a last look at the corpse and the cracking wall the Major had made before hopping through the hole which he proceeded to close back up. So now it was only me, the Major and Lieutenant Havoc. It was at this point when I was starting to get seriously worried. _We're stranded in the center of a dead city with limited food and water and armed Ishbalites on our tails. Oh, and let's not forget that we're all exhausted, we haven't slept for nearly three days, two of the three of us have injuries and the Major can't snap his fingers without causing himself pain. What could be better!_ my insides screamed. I didn't let any of that irrational thinking get in my way, though. I couldn't.

As fast as we could run, bearing a man with a wounded leg, we ran from alleyway to alleyway, looking for a way out. By our second day in the city, Mustang must have been going paranoid because he kept looking over his shoulder and at the rooftops and inside the buildings. When we did hear the Ishbalites, we dove for cover. Mustang started babbling like a madman due to lack of sleep and I had to clap my hand over his mouth to keep him from giving away our position. His body shook from the amphetamines he had managed to salvage from Haywood's med kit before we left and he looked like he was snapping. I dove into my pocket and drew out Haywood's stained dog tags, waving them in front of his face.

"See this?" I asked. He stared wide-eyed at the embossed lettering on the metal, "This is what will happen to you if you're not quiet!" I said in a harsh whisper, adding a hurried "sir" after my sentence. His eye locked on the dog tags and the large dried spots of blood. With that he seemed to sober up (for lack of a better expression). He seemed to be locked on the embossed name on the metal tag, all other things in his world blocked into a meaningless void. I looked straight into his eyes and drew his gaze from the dog tags.

"Major. We need you right now," I said sternly. A hint of self-awareness flickered across the Major's face. He looked back to the medical pack and drew out the bottle filled with the amphetamine pills. His hands shook as tipped the pills into his palm, downing two of the white capsules before I took the bottle from his hand, downing two pills of my own and looking around. The blood emanating from Havoc's leg wound had stopped and Haywood's bandaging from the previous day seemed to still be holding up. Mustang looked pale and sickly, there were large bags under his eyes, betraying the three days they had gone without sleep; contrary to what his body was telling him: a blatant "I'm awake!" I was sure that I didn't look any better, if not worse. I had been stinting the small amount of rations we had. I was tired, hungry and thirsty. The only thing that kept me from fainting then and there was my conviction: my solid decision to protect Mustang until he became Führer.

I patted the bag containing our ammunition. I scowled, feeling only a few clips for my pistol remaining, and even less ammunition for my rifle. I sighed and took in the dog tags with my eyes again. I rubbed some of the blood away from the name with my thumb, searching the scratched metal for some faint memory of its former owner. I replaced them in my pocket and scratched at my arms, where my skin had become dry and flaky. The drugs made my mouth dry and my tongue tasted horrid, but I kept my eyes on the alley opening, clutching my silver pistol with clammy hands.

I pressed the sound of Havoc retching to the back of my mind. He had lost the colour in his face and his stomach was starting to reject the food he was given. He had lost too much blood. He was barely ever conscious and Mustang and I took turns supporting him as we traveled wearily towards where we thought the edge of the city was. We were constantly haunted by the phantom footsteps of our Ishbalan pursuers, driving us onward into the jaws of exhaustion and starvation. For now, Havoc rested against the blackened wall, his pale face covered by a sheet of cold sweat and lolling on his shoulder while he was in a feverish nightmare.

The Major rested against the wall, staring up at the sky. He still clutched the gold locket that he had picked up our first day, the delicate hinges still melted by his alchemic flames, the picture of the Ishbalan family still singed inside its frame. After having taken the amphetamines, the drug-induces tremors had returned to his body.

It was at that moment that the Ishbalites decided to try to kill us again. While they had started with over ten men, they had been whittled down by my guns and –stubborn man- alchemic flames. He'd snapped regardless of the fact that it hurt him, making his hands bleed again. At this point, the last thing the three of us needed was a faulty alchemist who had no concept of when to stop. "If you want to fight," I'd told him, "Use your gun for once, _sir_." He'd given me a half-hearted glare, unwilling to admit that I was right, but hesitantly acquiescing.

The Ishbalites shot at the part of my back that they could see and the bullets exploded above my head. I ducked behind the alley wall and clicked the safety off of my pistol. Pointing my gun around the wall, I aimed at the closest Ishbalan and fired, hitting my mark between the eyes. I ducked behind the wall again, removing the empty cartridge and smacking a full one in. Mustang drew out his gun and backed up next to the wall. He whipped his pistol around the corner and fired towards the Ishbalites, missing them all wonderfully. He ducked behind a chunk of fallen rubble on the other side of the alleyway.

"I see that shooting isn't your forte!" I called to him.

"Doesn't take a genius to shoot a gun! Point and _pull the trigger_!" He yelled as he shot back at the Ishbalites, managing to shoot one of the enemies in the foot.

"Yes, however there is some _aim_ involved," I replied, swearing under my breath as my pistol clicked empty. I tossed the last clip to Mustang and abandoned my useless pistol, throwing it to one side. I slipped my rifle off of my shoulder and loaded it with the remainder of the rifle bolts. This would be difficult, but not impossible. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, zoning out all of the gunfire. I whipped around the corner and started shooting at the Ishbalites. A few of them were no doubt slightly shocked at the sight of a boyish blonde with a rifle shooting at them. They went down first.

I ducked behind the cover of the wall and looked longingly at the empty bag of ammunition, willing it to refill for me. Mustang had run out of bullets before I had and was pulling on his slightly bloody gloves over his cut hands and fingers. I shook my head at him, but he ignored me. As I wasn't intent on dying, I let him go. He pulled the glove over his hand and held it in a snapping position. He then swung his arm towards the Ishbalites, snapping as he did so. Wincing as the flames engulfed the people, he dug his left hand into his pocket, fingering the locket that he's picked up.

I ducked back behind the wall, not wanting to get hit when the Ishbalites' ammunition reacted to the heat. I looked back at Havoc, instead, who was still unconscious and moaning in his feverish sleep. His hand twitched as it fired an imaginary weapon at phantom enemies. A grunt of pain from Mustang turned my attention to him again. He was sitting down, staring at his gloves, watching as fresh blood seeped through the already stained white fabric. Then, the ammunition reacted to the heat. Bullets sailed past, lodging themselves in nearby walls and amongst piles of bones. Thankfully, though, none of them hit any of us.

I was safe for the moment, so I grasped Haywood's med kit and jogged tiredly over to Roy, who had already taken off his gloves. I bandaged them again while reprimanding him for being so stupid, but thanking him with the tone of my voice.

"Sir, you could have been seriously hurt. Just look at your hands," I said softly, "I was worried... There," I said as I finished bandaging his hands, "That should do for now, sir."

He sat there, fingering the locket again, staring down at the surface which he turned every which-way. It sat, glittering in the palm of one shaking hand –both from nerves and the amphetamines. I sat there for a minute, watching him before I decided to do something. I closed my hand around his fingers and the locket, not enough that it would hurt him, but enough for him to look up at me. When he did, it was with dulled, sad eyes that looked nothing like they did when I had seen him first.

"Sir… Roy," I said, "Don't do this to yourself, it's not healthy. You can't brood for the rest of your life."

"I can sure as hell try," he mumbled. I sat back, with the ghost of an amused smile on my lips.

"Ever the pessimist. It doesn't sound like the Roy Mustang that I knew. _He_ wanted to be the Führer. Do _you_?"

Roy furrowed his brow and glared at me for making him answer that.

"Yes." Quick, concise and to the point.

"Good," I told him. I don't know what spurred my next action, but my 'perfect soldier' act was taken off for a minute. I leant forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips, teasing him, leaving him wanting more. When I drew back, he was looking at me with wide eyes, a shadow of his former expression flowing over his face. I smiled, "Become the Führer, show Amestris a different way of doing things, a peaceful way of doing things. Come now, get up." He smiled and nodded to me, shakily getting to his feet and stuffing the locket back in his pocket. I knew it would work. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but Roy had needed some… motivation. On went the 'perfect soldier' act again. With that, we collected Havoc and returned to our abandoned encampment. As we weren't hiding or being careful, it only took us another day.

When we returned, our tents were ransacked, but nothing had been stolen. One of them had been partially disassembled, with poles scattered everywhere. 2nd Lieutenant Finch –or what was left of him- had been lashed to one said pole and left to rot. There was a bullet hole through his chest and part of his head had been blown off. Flies and maggots crawled all over his skin, eating every morsel they could find. The brain and the crimson inside of his head were crawling with flies, ending up looking like some sort of depraved melon riddled with seeds. I held back the urge to retch, as, I imagine, did Roy.

"One thing flames are good for," he managed to croak while digging in Havoc's pocket for his lighter, "No flies."

He clicked the lighter and set the corpse on fire, the flies clouding about it as if hoping the fire would dissipate, leaving them to their work. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but started surveying the ground for anything of use. We lay Havoc down in the Colonel's tent before heading back outside. Roy seemed to have an idea.

"Did we have a radio?"

"No, sir. Even if we did, the Ishbalites would have most likely destroyed it."

Roy shook his head and started rummaging through all the scattered objects, "No matter. Hawkeye, gather up all the metal objects and wires that you can find and bring them back here, alright?"

I nodded and set about my task. I collected bullet casings, metal food containers, stakes from the ruined tents and even cables from the ruined engine of our truck –which, might I add, never worked properly after that sand storm. I dumped them in the designated place and stood, watching Roy. He sat there on his knees, shifting around every once in a while, with one hand bracing himself and the other drawing patterns in the sand, gradually making a transmutation circle around the parts.

"What do you plan to do, sir?" I asked, watching the patterns unfold beneath his hands. He stopped for a minute and tilted his head to look up at me. With a smirk that was reminiscent of his first, he said-

"We need a radio, don't we?"

He finished the patterns and walked around the circumference of the circle, checking the patterns. I was doomed to stand there, forever bemused by the act of science occurring in front of me. Satisfied, he kneeled down and placed his hands on the edge of the circle. Neon-blue lightning blotted out the sun, forcing me to shield my eyes. When the light disappeared, I blinked to force the spots away from my eyes. Past the brightly-coloured dots in my vision, I saw a military transmitter radio sitting in the center of the circle. Roy strode into the center, inspecting his work. Nodding his approval, he waved me in towards it. He slipped the headset over his ears and turned the dial on the radio's face, searching for the right frequency.

I placed a similar headset over my ears and listened in to the noise that was emanating from the radio. I thought I heard something, but Mustang passed it. I bent over and gently pushed his hand out of the way with a quiet "Excuse me, sir." Turning it back to where I thought I had heard something. I turned it slowly back and forth as I narrowed down the frequency. When I finally got the right frequency, I smiled triumphantly and set my headset back on the ground. Roy did the same.

"Let's take this inside, we can finish tomorrow. For now let's get some rest. We need it," he said. Tiredly, we hauled the thing into the best tent and collapsed beside it. I offered to take first watch and he thanked me with his expression as he settled into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I had watched until sunset, it seemed a shame to wake him, so I kept myself up for a few more hours. By then, I was about ready to dig a six foot hole and bury myself in it. I slouched back into the tent and unceremoniously dropped onto the sand on the floor. I reached over and shook Roy awake.

"Sir… 's your turn," I slurred before falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion.


	9. Rain

**A/N: I am sorry to say that this will be the last chapter in this particular story. I really enjoyed working on this and thank all of the people who helped me with some of the terminology, positive reinforcement and all of you who reviewed for me. In particular, I would like to thank the people who have been faithful and given me words of encouragement since the beginning. And now, the conclusion of Desert's Caress…

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**9-Rain**

When I awoke, it was just sunrise. The ball of fire suspended in the sky painted the sands a bloody red colour and the tanned canvas a magnificent orange. I sighed and sat up slowly, painfully aware of the stiffness of my muscles. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and took in my surroundings again. Havoc was sitting up in his cot, rubbing his sore leg and taking a swig of water from his canteen.

"Oh, so you're awake now," he stated, his voice croaking from lack of use, "A fine job that Haywood did on my leg. I'm sorry for passing out on you like that. You should have just left me. Nobody likes a pawn that can't move."

I sighed. My head was still foggy and I was stiff in places I had never been stiff before, so, needless to say, I was a bit annoyed.

"If you're going to question my motives, Havoc, do it when I'm self-aware. I just woke up, for god's sake," I snapped, closing my eyes again and letting out a deep breath before I got up. Havoc snorted and took another swig out of his canteen.

"Mustang was on that radio this morning. He contacted Colonel Gran and requested a medic and a new truck. Fancy that. Looks like he's going to be waist-deep in paperwork when he gets home, though," he laughed. Awake enough to have gotten over my irritability, I looked at him quizzically.

"He's leaving the front?" I asked. Havoc grinned from ear to ear.

"Hawkeye… the war's over! We can go home!" he cried elatedly in that croaky voice of his. My eyes widened in shock. The war that had eaten away almost three years of my life had ended? I let out a deep breath and sat back. One thought prevailed over my mind: I'm going home. A rare smile crept onto my face and I felt my eyes tear up uncharacteristically.

"I-I'm going home," I said weakly as I laughed wetly, grinning at Havoc. He stared at me as if he had never seen me before, with a slightly shocked look on his face at my open display of emotion. Mustang had obviously heard us talking and flipped the tent flap aside to walk in. Seeing me up, he smiled and stood there, looking rather cocky.

"So, we're up are we?" he asked, looking much better than he had when I last saw him awake. He wasn't as pale and the dark circles under his eyes had lessened dramatically. I was still smiling when I looked up at him.

"Sir, is it true? The war's over? I can go home?" I asked hopefully. He smiled softly and nodded.

"Sure is. As soon as the truck arrives, we can go home. The truck is also bearing some mail that had to be held for us. It's about a year's worth."

I had to fight hard to keep from bursting into tears of happiness right on the spot. I couldn't stop the waver in my voice, though. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

The truck, its escort and the medic all arrived within a day of Mustang's request. We immediately left, leaving the ruined tents for the desert to devour. Perhaps in years to come, someone will come upon its remains, extricated from the sand dunes that would fall around it. I didn't dwell on it, though. I was too busy tearing into the mail from home as I sat in the back of the transport truck. Mustang and Havoc were doing the same. All three of us were dead to the world.

There were words of comfort, of hope, of hate, of sadness. There was even a letter dated from a year past that brought tidings of my father's death and how the last thing he had said was, "I'm so proud of my Riza." Roy groaned over several letters from the Captain Hughes that I had met which he let me read. He seemed to enjoy fawning over his girlfriend, Gracia. Havoc seemed to have a lot of trouble keeping his girlfriends as there were several rejection letters amongst his batch.

The train station seemed like a foreign object, a place out of myth and legend of which only hazy memories remained. I ran my hand up and down a column which I had stood by on my first day. I felt every crack, every chink out of the cement. Walking around the crowded platform, I committed every detail of this happy day to memory; the smells of the coal and the sweat from the workers and fellow soldiers; the sound of the whistle and friends calling to one another. I smiled softly as I boarded the train itself. I shared a seat with Havoc with Roy across from us.

However much I felt happy that I was going home, part of it felt wrong. During those three years in Ishbal, all the lives that we had taken had shattered our souls and tied some of the pieces to that desert. I felt like I was leaving something behind. I'm sure the others did, too, for they both stared out the window like I did at the passing desert. When we passed the rolling hills of the country, I saw the boys again. They were sitting on the hill, watching the train, their heads resting on drawn-up knees. There was a blond girl with them, too. Roy saw them too and launched into a coughing fit that that I was sure was only a cover up for something deeper.

As the desert had melted into the countryside, as did the countryside melt into a rainy cityscape. I pushed down the window and reached out a hand in wonder of the water which fell from the sky. I had started to wonder whether it existed at all. A happy smile plastered itself on my face as I felt the unfamiliar wetness on my skin. It was slowly washing away years of blood, sweat and sand from my tainted skin. Slowly, Havoc also reached out of the window, feeling the rain on his own hand. The cigarette in his mouth twitched slightly as the corners of his mouth tilted upwards. Roy refused to move, his excuse being that he hated the rain, but I had a feeling that part of him was still in the desert, unwilling to believe that something so wondrous as rain could really exist.

When we disembarked from the train, everyone parted ways with sad goodbyes and happy smiles. I stood out on the platform, staring at the wonder before me. If I had felt strange as a country girl in the city, I felt stranger still as a tainted soldier gazing upon the purity of children running to and fro under umbrellas with their mothers. I closed my eyes and raised my head up to the heavens, letting water pelt down on my face.

"Charlie! Charlie! Charles?" a woman yelled. I opened my eyes and turned to look at the source of the noise. A concerned-looking brunette ran alongside the stationary train, calling out a name and looking in through the windows. A young girl held onto her mother's hand and looked innocently up at the yelling woman. As the woman turned away from the train for a moment, I recognized her face with a pang. The brunette with the baby from Haywood's picture. I dug my hand into my pocket and felt the metal dog tags, warm next to my leg. It felt strange, as I had assumed that they would be cold like their owner's body. To feel them warm with my heat felt almost sinful.

I winced and took a deep breath before jogging over to the woman and calling out to her, raising my hand for her to wait. As she saw me approach, a look of dread settled in her eyes and one arm was pressed to her chest as if to keep it from stopping on the spot.

"Ma'am, might you be Mrs. Charles Haywood?" I asked, unable to keep the waver from my voice. She heard the waver and tears formed in her eyes.

"Yes. Yes I am," she said. The little girl on her arm saw her mother's eyes tear up and tugged on her sleeve.

"Mommy, why are you sad? Daddy's coming home," she said. Her mother hushed the girl and looked back up at me. I held out my fisted hand and she put her outstretched palm underneath as I dropped the dog tags –still flecked with blood- into her hand.

"He was a good officer, ma'am. Before he died, he-" I surprised myself by choking on my words, I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat, "-he said that he was proud of both of you. Good day, ma'am"

With that, I walked away, biting my lip to keep the tears from flowing out of my reddened eyes. I heard sniffles turn into sobs of anguish behind me, coupled with a little girl's concerned cries of, "Mommy? Why are you sad? Daddy's coming home. Mommy? Stop crying, Daddy won't like it. Mommy!"

I had to run away from the child's cries. I covered my ears with my hands as tears flowed down my cheeks. I screamed "SHUT UP!" as I had similarly near three years past. I collapsed to my knees in a park, sobbing full out, the child's cries of "Mommy!" still ringing in my ears. I slammed my fist into the mud, frustrated with myself for losing control. Tears were still running down my cheeks, disguised by the rain as I punished myself for being so weak.

A warm hand on my shoulder made me look behind me with a sniff. Roy was crouching there with a concerned look on his face that I was unaccustomed to seeing. He looked something akin to a wet dog, his black hair matted against his forehead and water dripping down his face. I felt a fresh wave of sobs coming to me and I lunged into him, wrapping my arms around him and sobbing into his chest. He was stunned for a second before returning the gesture, rubbing my back in a comforting way and burying his nose in the top of my head.

We sat there for a while out in the rain. We must have looked more like two lovers revelling in each other's company than two soldiers haunted by the phantom cries of children they would never see again. Two soldiers sitting in the foreign, yet familiar rain, praying to any god that would listen that there would be no more Ishbals; wishing that the rain would drown away the sand and sweat from their bodies; hoping that no more people would leave as pure as a child and return tainted by the desert's caress.

Praying.

Wishing.

Hoping.

Finding the rain.

**OWARI

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**A/N: It feels so bitter-sweet to end it. I may continue it, though!As promised, here is the preview for my next fic, "Pentacle". Tell me what you think!

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A grey-haired older man ran as fast as he could through the maze of water stained hallways that made up this building. Mould crept up the walls, adding to the musty smell of stale air and stagnant water. His foot splashed into a puddle, drenching his blue military uniform navy; black in the dim light provided by the one or two incandescent light bulbs that passed over his head as he raced through the halls. An eerie, singsong voice echoed through the air around him when he came to a crossroad of sorts.

"Stop running; you'll only die tired," it said. The man squinted in the dim light, wheeling this way and that, trying to find out where the voice was coming from. It was impossible to tell in these hallways where anything was. The older man felt like a rat running around a giant maze for his captor's pleasure. For him, though, there was no piece of cheese at the end of the tunnel. There was only death. Thinking he heard a footstep, the paranoid man raced down the hallway in front of him, barrelling down it like a mad dog.

The whites of his eyes showed all the way around his irises, standing out in the darkness like two points of light. Foam had collected at the corners of his mouth, further increasing his resemblance to a rabid animal. Unfortunately, he ran straight into the man he was trying to avoid. He laid eyes on the effeminate face and the sadistic smirk and he fell back onto his behind in shock, desperately trying to scramble away. The effeminate man shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Now, you've been a bad boy, haven't you? I think you need some punishment," he said in that singsong voice of his. The man on the ground screamed a sound that would pierce the soul of an angel as the man above him flicked his wrist. Five kunai blades embedded themselves in the fallen man's chest and he slumped the rest of the way to the ground.

"Goodnight, General."


End file.
